Rolling Traveler

As I mentioned yesterday, since I started using a wheelchair, I’ve had to get used to being shorter. Besides the minor frustrations of high counters in stores, keypads being out of reach on ATMs, and paintings hanging too high in art galleries, there are some situations where being this short - and I mean about 2 feet under the average - can make life really uncomfortable.

I went to see the police yesterday because I wanted to make a statement about two strangers who’d come to my door and behaved in an intimidating way. I realize that, after the fact, there was nothing the police could actually do: no crime was committed. However, I feel that keeping the police informed was better, just in case something happens down the line.

When the doorbell rang, it was the same one-two ring that our postman uses, and I really thought it was his voice I heard saying he was already upstairs and there was no need to buzz him in. I opened the door to find two strangers, one in his late 50s, the other in his early 20s, standing there. I could’ve and should’ve taken the effort to stand and use the spy-hole in the door, which is at regular eye height, but I didn’t think. I was lucky nothing worse happened than getting intimidated by the two men.

They stepped in close as soon as I opened the door, effectively blocking me from closing it unless I actually slammed it on them, and started asking questions. They claimed to be looking for someone who used to live in my apartment, but they asked how many people live here, and where I was from, and whether mine is the room opposite the front door. Their attitude and their questioning were aggressive, and I really had a moment of fear. I couldn’t think straight to just tell them to go away: I just kept avoiding the questions, saying I didn’t know anything about the person they were looking for.

 What does this have to do with being shorter and in a wheelchair? It’s simple: if I’d been standing, I’d have been taller than both of them by a good 6 inches. Sitting down, I was around 18 inches shorter than the younger one, and easier to intimidate. I felt vulnerable, and feeling like that is not something that I used to feel when I was striding around Dublin and Wroclaw in my younger days. It’s a negative aspect of being in a wheelchair that I haven’t been able to deal with, a physical vulnerability that I haven’t been able to shake. How do you get back the kind of confidence that comes from your physical presence if your physical presence is changed?